


In Another Lifetime

by Queen_in_the_North



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Prequel, Professor Jonathan Crane, with a few appearances from the Scarecrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 23:39:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14175864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_in_the_North/pseuds/Queen_in_the_North
Summary: Jonathan Crane had been a professor once after all. And Penelope Young had been a student.





	In Another Lifetime

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one shot that takes place a number of years before the events of the PI verse. It's going to become pretty relevant in the series, fairly soon...

_Gotham University, in another lifetime_

“Who can name the most common phobias?” 

There were a few students who raised their hands, though none faster than a dark haired young woman in the front row. This fact did not go unnoticed by Professor Crane. “Anyone besides Miss Young for a change?”

Penelope’s face flushed a bit at being called out, but she kept her hand raised high. She couldn’t help it if she was one of the few people who didn’t take this class solely for her major. Professor Crane gestured to a young man sitting directly behind her. ”Mr. McGinnis?”

“Uh…Arachnophobia?”

Professor Crane nodded. “Fear of spiders. Go on.”

Penelope could feel her classmate  hesitate behind her before he continued. “..Acrophobia, agoraphobia, claustrophobia, cynophobia, ophidiophobia, aerophobia, astraphobia and…mysophobia!”

Professor Crane nodded. “Very good Mr. McGinnis, but that’s only nine. What’s the tenth?” When no answer was forthcoming, Professor Crane finally acknowledged Penelope. “Very well, Miss Young.”

“Trypophobia,” she answered trying not to sound too smug. “Fear of holes.”

If Professor Crane was pleased, he didn’t show it. “Very good. While these may be the most common phobias, they not by any means the only ones. For your next assignment, I want you to pick a phobia and type up an case study on it. This assignment will make up 15% of your grade. Class dismissed.”

Penelope’s classmates began packing nearly in unison as soon as Professor Crane finished his sentence. From directly behind her, she could hear some of their choice comments about him. “Creep…what’s that accent? Southern?…I heard he killed someone in Georgia and that’s why he….why’s he so skinny?”

Penelope ignored the chatter and instead of walking out of class, walked up to the front of the lecture hall. Professor Crane was at his desk, gathering his notes into an old leather briefcase.

“Professor Crane?” she asked. “May I talk to you?”

“This isn’t about your grade, is it?” the professor asked, not looking up from his task. “If I recall, you have a 99%. Are you here to haggle over the remaining 1%?”

“No, actually I was wondering do you have a teacher’s assistant?”

Professor Crane looked up at her then, his piercing blue eyes boring down into her. This and his considerable height intimidated some of his students. Not Penelope. “Are you asking, or volunteering?”

Penelope took a quick breath, her speech already prepared. “Well, as you know, I am your best student. I’m more than qualified to-”

“It’s not a question of your qualifications,” Professor Crane interrupted, closing his briefcase.  “It’s more a question of your interest. Aren’t you currently taking 18 credits?”

“I am,” Penelope answered, trying her best not to get testy. “I can do the work.”

“Again, not saying you can’t.” Professor Crane gestured for her to follow him. The pair walked out of the lecture hall and towards Crane’s office. “You’re what, a Junior?”

“Sophomore,” Penelope corrected. 

“Aren’t you a bit young to be looking into being a Teacher’s assistant? Why not wait until you’re a Senior? Your class load shouldn’t be as large then.”

Penelope bit her lip. “Professor Crane,” she said. “After I graduate, I want to get into Medical school. I need every advantage I can get when I apply.”

The two stopped at Professor Crane’s office door. The lanky man turned on the doorknob before giving her an appraising look. “Send me your class schedule and we’ll see what we can work out.”

Penelope smiled. “Thank you professor.”

* * *

 

In the coming weeks, Penelope saw little of Professor Crane. She came to his office three days a week between her chemistry and sociology classes and assisted mostly in helping look over the lesson plan and in grading assignments. Not quite the challenging work she would have wanted, but it kept her occupied at least. Professor Crane would stay long enough to give her her assignments for the day before he’d leave to attend to other matters. His ‘research’ no doubt. Her classmates had gossiped about it since she’d started taking his course. He’d offered no explanation himself, nor did he really need to, in Penelope’s opinion. One day however, he returned early while she was in the midst of grading. 

“Evening Miss Young.”

Penelope looked up briefly to greet him, only for her attention to be drawn to his right hand. It was covered in a bandage. “Are you alright, Professor Crane?”

Professor Crane looked askance at her, only to realize what she was looking at. “Oh, this. It’s quite alright. Cut myself on some glass in the lab, that’s all.”

Penelope nodded. Then her curiosity got the better of her. “The lab? That’s where you do your research?”

Professor Crane went rigid and Penelope had the vague feeling she’d crossed a line. Then he chuckled. Penelope felt a brief moment of unease. “Not one to beat around the bush, are you Miss Young?”

“I don’t mean to pry,” she continued. “But what exactly are you working on?”

Professor Crane said nothing, instead giving her a probing, almost calculating look, as if he was debating something internally. “I’m conducting more in depth research into fear and it’s effects on subjects.”

This piqued Penelope’s curiosity even more. “Purely psychological, or physiological as well?”

“A bit of both.” He changed the subject. “Your second major is in biology, isn’t it?”

Penelope was a bit taken aback. Professor Crane had never taken any sort of personal interest in her before. “Yes,” she answered finally. “Actually, I’m most interested in the physical link between the brain and criminal insanity.”

Professor Crane raised an eyebrow. “Criminal insanity? That’s a subject that interests you?”

Penelope shrugged. “Purely on an intellectual level, professor.”

“I should hope so. I would hate to see one of my best students in Arkham Asylum.” There was just a hint of a smile on Professor Crane’s face. From his old fashioned, ill fitting clothes, his worn out appearance and just by the way that he carried himself, it was easy to forget that he was a young man. What happened to make Professor Crane the way he was? 

“Only to work there Professor, I assure you.”

Professor Crane’s face grew even more solemn. “You could better than that.”

Penelope had no answer to that. Professor Crane took his seat at his desk finally and pulled out his research notes. The pair worked in silence until Penelope left. It only occurred to her than that he’d never told her what exactly his research entailed.

* * *

 

She’d heard the rumors about how Professor Crane wasn’t, as some other professors in the department had put it, ‘quite right.’ She couldn’t deny that the man had his eccentricities, but what of it? Academia was full of people like that. As long as Professor Crane did his job, what did his personal life matter?

One night changed that.

Penelope had left a textbook in Professor Crane’s office that afternoon. She came back to retrieve it that night and was relieved to see that the lights were on in his office. She knocked on the door. “Professor Crane? Are you there?”

There was no response. She let out an impatient sigh. He must have left his lights on when he left. She’d have to come back in the morning. Before she left, she put her hand on the door knob and turned it. The door opened. Penelope took a step back. Leaving the lights on was one thing, but leaving the door unlocked too? That seemed unlikely. She entered the office. “Professor Crane?”

No one was in the office. The desk lamp was on, illuminating the room. Professor Crane’s tweed jacket hung on the coat rack. So he’d been here? Where was he now? Penelope walked into the room and towards the desk where she worked. He’d probably just left to use the facilities. He’d be back momentarily. She grabbed her textbook off of her desk and moved to exit the office, when something on the professor’s desk caught her eye. It was a notebook, already open. Penelope worried her lip. It would be a complete invasion of privacy. Her curiosity won out over her propriety and she leaned over to take a quick look.

_…after administration of FT, subject experienced hallucinations that lasted for half an hour….during this time, subject began bleeding from the eyes…after 30 minutes, subject expired from presumed heart failure…_

Penelope creased her brow. Professor Crane was conducting animal experiments? And what was FT?

“What are you doing here?”

Penelope turned at the sound, her heart pounding. Professor Crane stood in the door way, wearing what looked like…burlap? His hair was tousled, as if he’d been wearing a hat. His ice blue eyes started straight into her and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. “Professor Crane, you startled me!”

“Did I now?” the man asked. His voice was…different. Raspier. His Georgia drawl was more pronounced than usual. “Are you scared, child?”

Penelope took a step back, only to collide with the desk. “Professor Crane?”

He took a step towards her, reaching into his coat pocket. “Tell me child, what do you fear?”

This was not Professor Crane. Penelope didn’t know who this was. “I just came to get my textbook, I didn’t mean to pry-”

Professor Crane stopped suddenly when he came closer to her. “Penelope?” he whispered. He shook his head slightly as if coming out of a dream. “Miss Young? What are you doing here?”

Penelope let out a breath that she’d been holding, before all sorts of questions came to her mind. Had he not recognized her? Was he intoxicated or was this dissociation? “Professor Crane,” she asked, with a trembling voice she scarcely recognized. “Are you alright?”

Professor Crane ran a hand through his hair. “Just tired. Nothing for you to concern yourself with.” His tone brokered no argument. 

Penelope held her textbook tight to her chest and briskly walked past Professor Crane. His voice called after her. “I may have some additional work for you starting tomorrow. If you’re still inclined.”

Penelope paused. Something was wrong with Professor Crane. She couldn’t pinpoint what exactly, but something was terribly wrong. But if she left, she wouldn’t find out what. And there was her grade to consider. “Yes.” she said. 

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow in class, Miss Young.”

Penelope would never know what sort of work Professor Crane had in mind for her. The next morning in class, he stood in the front of the lecture hall with an almost manic look in his eyes. He pulled a gun out of his jacket. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in a loud voice. “The psychology of the gun!” He pointed the gun at the far end of the hall and fired. Pandemonium ensued.

* * *

 

The next time Penelope saw Professor Crane was the following afternoon. He was clearing out his office and she had come by to say goodbye. “I’m sorry,” she said. She was surprised by how genuinely she felt it. “I tried to talk to the dean, but-”

“You shouldn’t have,” he said, not looking up from the box he was packing. “You should be able to find another professor to TA for. Your grades won’t suffer for it.”

“What will you do?”

Professor Crane shrugged. “It’s a setback, but my research will continue on.” He finished packing up the last box and picked it up. He passed her without a word, but Penelope couldn’t quite let him go.

“Good luck,” she said.

He paused, then without turning back softly said “You as well, child.”

* * *

 

_10 years later_

Penelope was sitting at her desk in her office in the old Arkham Mansion, scribbling out the notes from her latest, unproductive session with Edward Nigma. The man seemed to delight in finding new ways to irritate her. She was brought out of her work by the sound of the building security alarm going off. She closed her journal with an irritated sigh. This was the fifth breakout in the past two months. “Not again.”

She got up from her chair to lock down her office, as per Arkham protocol. She hadn’t taken three steps away from her desk when a voice filled her office.  _“Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow…”_

Penelope froze mid step as a figure emerged from the doorway into her office. She’d known he was here. She’d had to disclose that she was a student of his when she began working here. She’d never been allowed to be alone with the man because of that. She’d wondered if he remembered her. It looked like she was about to find out. 

_“With silver bells and cockle shells and pretty maids all in a row…”_ Jonathan Crane walked into her office. He was still in the Arkham issued jumpsuit, his ice blue eyes poring into her, just as when he’d caught her looking at his notes all those years ago. “Good evenin’ child.” 

Penelope stood her ground. The best way to deal with Scarecrow-Crane, Crane- was not to let on his effect on her. “Professor Crane.”

He chuckled. It was a terrible, raspy sound. “Professor Crane. It’s been a long time since anyone’s called me that, Miss Young.”

“Dr. Young,” Penelope corrected. “Do you remember me?”

Crane nodded. “I do. One of my best students.” He walked towards her and she continued to stand her ground. “Always an ambitious one.” He stopped when he was directly in front of her. He reached out his long hand and his gnarled fingers lifted her chin. “Clever, but painfully naive. I told you once, I didn’t want to see you here.”

Penelope brushed his hand away. “That’s close enough!” She was relieved when he didn’t retaliate. “Professor Crane,” she started. “Jonathan. Let me help you.”

He shook his head. “Still naive. What makes you think I want your help?”

Penelope took a slight step back then. “What do you want?”

Crane did not follow her. “I won’t hurt you,” he said. “But I can’t protect you. Leave this place.” He turned and walked out of her office. It was the last time Penelope Young would ever speak to him.


End file.
